


A Very Merry Christmas

by lostintheverse



Series: The Verse of Ari & Dante [5]
Category: Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe - Benjamin Alire Sáenz
Genre: Anal Sex, Boys In Love, Extended Scene, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Underage tag due to sex between 17 year olds in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:20:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,306
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24512980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostintheverse/pseuds/lostintheverse
Summary: Ari and Dante try some new things together on Christmas Eve.
Relationships: Aristotle Mendoza/Dante Quintana
Series: The Verse of Ari & Dante [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1411420
Comments: 13
Kudos: 54





	A Very Merry Christmas

**Author's Note:**

> This can stand alone, but it is actually a "missing scene" from [Chapter 18](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19470853/chapters/52363339) of [The day after (and the day after that)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19470853/chapters/46347529) (it comes at the very end of the chapter). I put an excerpt from the chapter in to jog your memory/put this fic in context. 
> 
> Not sure if a TW is needed for Dom/sub dynamics, but if so, here it is :)
> 
> Many, many thanks to [Happierstill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Happierstill/pseuds/Happierstill) for the meticulous beta-work!

Reference point (Cecilia’s POV):

“Get in line, kids! We’re making a train,” Dante says, carefully depositing Bella and Max on to the floor so he can extricate himself from Ari and stand up. “Ari, you be the caboose.” 

Ari scowls at him playfully. “Why do I have to be the caboose?” he asks, his eyes narrowed. 

“Because I’m always the caboose,” Dante says over his shoulder, winking, and Ari’s eyes get wide and he doubles over laughing and frankly, I’m a bit embarrassed. I have no idea what the statement even means, but it’s clearly something sexual because Sam is groaning again and Mrs. Quintana says, “Dante!” again in an exasperated tone. Thankfully, none of the kids have a clue that Dante keeps making jokes about his sex life with their uncle, so I just lean into Leo and laugh.

*DANTE

“You just about gave everyone a heart attack down there,” Ari says to me. His tone is admonishing but his face looks wicked.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I say, all innocence. 

“You’re always the caboose?” He narrows his eyes, but I barely notice because he’s also taking off his clothes. 

The kids went right to bed once we tucked them all in and gave them all kisses and hugs and tickles. I asked if we should go back downstairs and Ari said no fucking way. He said he needed his “alone time” with me.

So we’re in his bedroom now, door locked, and he’s stripping down to nothing—holy shit, I’m glad I didn’t realize he was going commando under those jeans or I would have been driven to distraction all night—and then he walks towards me slowly. 

“Well, I  _ am _ the caboose” I breathe, barely able to get words out. When he gets the look in his eye that he has now, it kinda makes me lose my mind. 

Ari’s face is an inch away. Less. I feel his breath; it smells like cinnamon and apples.  _ From the cider, _ my brain thinks, but it’s such a detached thought I don’t fully register it. 

“What does that even  _ mean, _ Dante?” he whispers, and I dissolve into laughter. It’s the weirdest thing, because frankly, him standing right there, buck naked, his lips a hairbreadth away, has me half-hard and shivering with desire. But even so, his deadpan question makes me laugh. 

God, we really are made for each other. 

“Just that...I don’t know. You’re kinda the top in this relationship, you know?” My voice is doing that thing. That squeaking thing. I used to try to rein it in until I realized it drives him wild. Sure enough, the look in his eyes goes from playfully turned on to viciously turned on. He slips his fingers in my belt loops and pulls me flush against him, and I’m suddenly desperate to be out of my own clothes.

He leans in the tiniest bit and I close my eyes, expecting him to kiss me, but he only breathes a question against my mouth. “How do you figure?” My eyes pop open and meet his. “We’ve never done anything that would cause you to make that distinction.”

I feel like I’m gulping for air. He’s right, of course...we’ve only ever given each other handjobs and blow jobs, so it doesn’t make a ton of sense. 

“I guess...I want you to be the top?” I murmur. I can feel how wide my eyes are. Hell, I can feel myself blush, and I’m not a blusher. I don’t get embarrassed, and I’m not embarrassed now, but I do feel incredibly vulnerable.

Which I guess is exactly what I’m saying I want. I watch his face melt into a smirk that makes me catch my breath. I’m no longer  _ half- _ hard; the smokiness of his eyes and the way he’s still yanking at my belt loops, as if flush against him isn’t close enough, is making me ache with need, and my pants are uncomfortably tight. I reach down to undo my fly and, fast as lightning, he smacks my hand away. 

“Uh-uh,” he admonishes, shaking his head. I stare at him. “I didn’t tell you to take your clothes off.” 

I continue to stare at him, speechless. This is the most out-of-character—and hottest—thing I’ve ever witnessed in my life. My knees are weak. 

“Ari,” I whisper, but I have to swallow and lick my lips because no sound comes out. I try again. “Ari, being a top doesn’t mean...you’re in charge.”

He looks down at where my hand—the one he’d batted away from my fly—is hanging limply at my side. Then he raises an eyebrow and meets my eyes again. 

“You sure?” he asks. Then he steps away from me and I see that he’s hard—rock hard—and I think I might die if I don’t get out of these clothes and get my hands on him in the next five seconds. “Get on the bed,” he suddenly commands. 

I never moved so fast in my life.

For a second—just a second—as I’m settling back into his pillows, I see his eyes glinting in his typical playful way. (The fact that there is a “typical playful way” for Ari thrills me. Who knew?) 

I lie on my back and wait, heart pounding, breath coming in erratic gasps. I have no idea what to expect, and I love it. 

Then I nearly pass out because he takes his own cock in his hand and starts stroking. Slowly. I reach for my fly again and he narrows his eyes. 

“Don’t you dare,” he hisses, never breaking his slow, methodical rhythm. I drop my hand and groan. And then he bites his bottom lip and I nearly come in my pants.

_ “Ari,” _ I whimper, and I’m sorry to say it sounds like I’m begging. Which I am. 

He grins then, his big, movie-star Ari grin, the one I think I might be the only person he shows, and I actually kind of sob because I love him so fucking much and I have never wanted him more than I do right now. And let me tell you, that’s saying something.

When he settles himself above me, he holds himself up on his knees so that his weight isn’t on me. His cock is nearly purple, it’s so hard, and the muscles in his thighs are visibly flexed to hold him up, and good God I am living a dream. 

“Do you want to touch me?” He asks, popping the button on my jeans in one hand and slowly (so slowly) unzipping my fly. I nearly sob again at the release of pressure, and I nod. “Do it then,” he whispers. 

So I do. I take him in my hand and pick up where he left off, trying to keep that slow-and-steady rhythm he had had going on, but failing because I’m a fucking mess. I have no idea where this side of him is coming from, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. He’s already shown me he has worlds within him that no one—not even I—ever imagined. 

He watches me stroke him for just a minute before saying, “Stop.” I immediately release my hand and he nods in approval. “Good,” he whispers. Then he pushes my sweater and t-shirt up and I maneuver around just enough to help him pull them off of me. “Do you like this?” he asks. His hands are so big and soft as they slide from my shoulders, down my chest, across my body, under the waistband of my jeans. I nod a little desperately. He smiles. “And you’ll tell me if you stop liking it, right?” He sounds like he’s purring, his voice is so deep and smooth and silky, but underneath it I can sense the tiniest hint of insecurity, and I realize how much he’s going out on a limb here. How much of a risk he’s letting himself take. And my heart swells because I know—I  _ know _ —that he’d only ever be like this with me. He trusts me. That’s why he can do it. 

“I fucking love it. Don’t stop,” I whisper, and then I don’t speak again for a long time because he leans down onto me to kiss me blind. His kiss is deep, invasive, overpowering. I had no idea a kiss could feel like this. I feel it through my entire body. As he kisses me, he slips his hand into my boxers and takes hold of me and I inhale sharply, feeling my orgasm just under the surface. He must sense it, too, because he doesn’t move his hand—he just holds it there. He holds _ me.  _

I understand. He doesn’t want me to come yet. I steel myself to obey, no matter what my body wants. 

He keeps kissing me, slowly, relentlessly. I can’t breathe and I don’t want to. I just want him to keep going. I slide my hands up his arms tentatively, not sure if it’s allowed. (The fact that I’m wondering if it is allowed is the single hottest thing that has ever happened, I swear. I had no idea I had this kink but dear God, do I ever.) (How the fuck did  _ he _ know? He’s a fucking courageous genius, that’s why.) 

Apparently it’s allowed because he doesn’t slow his kissing but he  _ does  _ start tugging my jeans and boxers down. When they get too low for him to continue, he breaks the kiss abruptly with one last sharp, quick bite to my lip. Then he sits back and pushes them the rest of the way down until they’re at my ankles, and I use my feet to make quick work of kicking them off. 

“Now,” he whispers, casually taking my throbbing cock in his hand like I’m not about to self-combust. He starts stroking— _ finally _ —and my vision goes blurry. Never, never have I been so intensely turned on. “When you say you want me to be the top…”

“Dear God, Ari, stop teasing me,” I whimper. I’m begging again.  _ “Yes. _ I want you to.” 

There’s a moment’s flash in his eyes—surprise, and maybe even...trepidation?—and I’m reminded all over again how brave he’s being. “If you want to,” I add. 

He leans down to me again and this time his kiss is gentle. Heartbreakingly careful. “I want to,” he whispers into my ear. He kisses my temple and I think I might cry from the sudden tenderness. “I love you, Dante,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to mine. 

I try to answer him, but I’m too choked up and overwhelmed and just, well...it sounds weird, but I’m too in love to say, “I love you, too.” 

But he knows. I can see in his eyes when he sits back up that he knows. “I bought...some stuff…” Suddenly, he sounds like normal-Ari. Like he’s surprised and slightly mortified to realize that he’s talking. I actually lift myself up on my elbows to kiss him. He grins. “Hey, I didn’t tell you to sit up,” he says, but this time in his regular voice, and like it’s a joke. He laughs a little and blushes, and I’m so in love I could die. 

And I grin and laugh, too, but I also whisper, “Sorry,” and lie back down. His eyes immediately darken with lust again. 

“You really like this?” he asks quietly.

“I really do.”

“And you really want me to…”

“I really do.” I huff out what I guess is a laugh, but it’s got so much pent-up desire in it I’m not sure it qualifies. “God, Ari. I’ve wanted it for so long.”

He’s gazing down at me like he’s as crazy in love as I am. We just look at each other, blinking slowly, breathing. Being crazy in love. 

“So what did you buy?” I ask, putting my hands on his taut thighs. I’m immensely pleased that he doesn’t stop me. 

“Oh,” he says, and for a second I’m afraid he’s going to jump off me and go bury himself in a hole, but then he seems to remember his confidence from a few moments before and he grins. Then, without another word, he leans over me (his cock brushes against mine and once again, I nearly come, and even he lets out a little groan that he clearly tries to suppress) and opens the drawer of his nightstand. Out come two items: a condom and a bottle of lube. 

“Oh,” I say, and my voice is paper-thin because it’s hitting me that we’re actually doing this. And I want to—like I said to him, I’ve wanted to for a long time—but I’m also...scared. “You...you  _ planned _ to…”

He says, “Well yeah” like it’s a stupid question. “I told you that first night in the desert that I wanted to.”

My eyes get big. “When? I don’t remember that.”

He looks at me with so much exasperation, I laugh. Only Ari Mendoza could make me laugh when I’m spread naked beneath him, cock throbbing, looking at him holding a bottle of lube and a condom. It’s our language. If his language is touch (and it clearly is, good God) and my language is words,  _ our _ language is laughter. 

“I was kissing your body,” he says, and he starts stroking me again like it’s nothing, and my eyes roll back in my head. “And you said, ‘fuck, Ari,’ and I said, ‘not just yet, but that, too.’” 

I stare at him, breathing heavily because of what he’s doing and trying to figure out what the hell he’s talking about. Not because I don’t remember, but because I can’t  _ think _ when he’s straddling me and casually using my cock as a plaything. 

“Fine. Yes. I remember that. Can we stop talking now?”

“Holy shit. Dante Quintana wants to  _ stop talking?” _

I chuckle breathlessly. “Fuck off,” I murmur, and then I gasp because his hand tightens around me. 

He leans down so that he’s an inch away again and whispers against my lips, “That’s the plan, my love.” 

And then he takes his hand away (just in time, too, because I don’t think I could have stopped myself from coming if he hadn’t) and the next thing I know, I feel him pressing into me with two lubed-up fingers. I inhale sharply and there’s a question in his eyes that I guess I answer with my own, because he presses further. And further. And it burns a little, I’m not going to lie, but he’s taken up stroking me with his other hand and his hair is in his face and he’s just so fucking beautiful and I love him so much and I’m just...just…

“Oh God,” I groan, because he’s gotten his fingers all the way in and hit some spot up inside me that I didn’t know existed, and I arch my back and moan and writhe around beneath him, trying to get his fingers to go deeper still. 

“You like it,” he murmurs, and it’s not a question because it would be a ridiculous fucking question. I  _ love _ it, and he can tell. “Do you want...more?”

“I want  _ you,” _ I growl, grasping hold of his biceps and yanking at him a little, as if that will give me what I want. 

It does. 

He pulls his fingers out slowly and takes his hand off of me I whimper at the loss of...well, everything that was feeling so fucking amazing...and then I watch him roll on the condom (he must have practiced, the devil, because he does it with complete expertise, and my mind is blown all over again) and squirt more lube into his hand and then he’s stroking himself, over the condom, and watching my face with eyes so dark they look black, and I’m literally aching beneath him. “Oh God, please,” I whisper, and he gets a wicked smirk.

“What do you want, Dante?” he asks, and he’s back to that silky-smooth voice that is utterly intimidating and hot and makes me want to do anything he tells me to, and I nearly cry. 

“I want you,” I whisper, feeling like I might come apart at any moment. 

“You want me to what?” he asks, still stroking himself slowly. 

“I want you to fuck me.  _ Please.” _

I’ve never felt more beautiful than right now, because the way he looks at me leaves no room for doubt that this breathtaking man is as crazy about me as I am about him. And then he’s doing it, he’s sliding inside of me, and I almost scream. He clamps a hand over my mouth. 

“Shhhhh,” he whispers. “Family’s home.” But he doesn’t stop what he’s doing, and I can see on his face that he’s almost as close to losing his damn mind as I am. His hand falls away from my mouth so he can prop himself up with it, and he uses the other one to take hold of my leg and throw it over his shoulder, and then he leans down and...well, there’s nothing, nothing like the feeling when he hits the sweet spot deep inside of me. I put both arms over my head and brace myself against his headboard so I can push back against him, driving him deeper, and I watch his face through a hazy fog and there’s nothing in the world except Ari. He’s taken me over, and I let myself melt into it. 

ARI

Dante is like an animal, in the best possible way. I’ve never seen anything like the wild, primal look in his eyes as he leverages himself against my headboard and pushes back, and it’s driving me mad. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing—I haven’t since we got in here—but I’m just rolling with what feels right, and it seems to be working out. 

I had no idea I had this kink but dear God, do I ever.

And I really, really love this guy. 

I love him so much I can’t breathe sometimes. I love him so much I feel like I’ll die from the weight of it. But it’s not a bad weight; I used to think love was a weight I had to carry, but now I understand that it’s a weight that keeps me grounded. A weight that’s like a blanket on a cold night, a pressure inside of me that fills me up and holds me safe at the same time. I carry it willfully, eagerly, desperately. And it carries me.

After, I gather him to me and hold him as close as I can. We’re both shuddering and gasping and covered in sweat. 

It was the single most intense thing I’ve ever experienced. 

Somehow we came together. Simultaneously. I don’t know if that’s normal, but it was absolutely incredible. 

The thing is, he was so...pliable. So open to me. He was both utterly receptive and fiercely demanding all at once, letting me do what I would with his body while also moving right along with me. Even though I was the “top” as he calls it (the term still kind of makes me laugh, but not as much as “caboose”—Jesus, he’s a beautiful goofball), in a strange way, it was like _ he  _ was leading. 

“You okay?” I whisper, because he’s got tears on his cheeks. I know better than to be concerned, though. Dante cries when he’s happy, too. 

“I love you,” is his response.

“I know.” He laughs and shoves against me the tiniest bit. Then he immediately pulls me in tighter. “I love you, too, Dante.” And then, remembering, I add, “Merry Christmas, my sweetheart.”

  
  



End file.
